What War Makes Of Us
by miss-blanche
Summary: War can make anything of you. A monster, a hero, a killer, an empty shell... Or it can kill you in one foul swoop. A series of one shots centered around the first war.
1. Wonder

**A/N In the light of... Er... Not wanting to do my English assessment that's due tomorrow (the one that I will in all likelihood get a zero for) I have produced this little one shot. Which will be followed by several other one shots centered around the first war.  
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**This is told from Lily's perspective. The next one will probably be from Sirius'. Enjoy :)  
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**Wonder **

Its funny how nothing ever turns out the way you expect isn't it? Like you say to God, 'I know exactly what's going to happen next and I'm prepared' and just to spite you he does the exact opposite. I wonder if I ever knew that in school when I planned how my life would turn out. I can't remember anymore if I did.

I gaze out the window and look across the street. There's a muggle family out there. One Dad, one Mum and one little boy racing around the garden with not a care in the world. His parents are watching him proudly and laughing at all the tumbles he takes.

I glance back at the stairs and I wonder if James and I will ever laugh at Harry tumbling onto the grass in the front garden. I wonder if James, Harry and I will ever set foot in the garden in the first place.

I wonder if we'll ever have a garden party out there if all this horror ends. I wonder if Sirius will bring his girlfriend of the month and introduce her as Sally when she's actually Dianna. I wonder if Remus will have that tired look on his face that he sometimes has because he's thinking about things too big and worrisome for the rest of us to comprehend. I wonder if Peter will still laugh at all James' jokes and stutter hopelessly when I hug him in welcome.

I walk into the kitchen and the first thing I see are two mugs sitting on the table. They still have the remnants of coffee and I remember the conversation I had only an hour ago with one of the order members.

I wonder if I'll ever sit down at that table to talk with friends. Not about war and death and strategies and plans, but about marriage and passion and love and children.

I take both mugs and rinse them in the sink. I watch the murky water swirl away and wonder if all the evil in the world will swirl away some day too.

I hear Harry cry from upstairs and for a moment I feel relief because I'm given something to do, but I realize in panic that any number of things could have happened. I race up the stairs, sometimes taking two at a time and pull open the door with such force I feel like I've broken my arm.

The room is empty but for one hysterical baby.

And I wonder if I'll ever hear Harry cry and not think that I'm about to be murdered.

I try to feed him, but he won't take the milk. I know that's what's wrong with him - that he's hungry. But it's like he knows that today is one bad day in the thousand others that I've had over the past few years and he stops crying, and sleeps. Because somehow it's like he knows that Mummy needs to cry herself.

I wonder if one day he'll keep crying because Mummy doesn't need him to be strong anymore.

As I walk back down the stairs I look at all the photographs along the wall. Of friends and acquaintances and family members and colleagues.

And one catches my eye; the one taken by me on our last day at Hogwarts.

James and Sirius are in the middle and it's like they're the center of everything - like they're gluing it all together. Peter is to one side and is staring up at them like he can't believe how lucky he is to have them as friends. I smile because on the other side of the camera, I remember wearing a similar look. And Remus is standing to the other side, sporting the same sad smile that's always tainted with something that no one can ever figure out.

I wonder if Sirius will ever stop drinking and will smile again like he is in that photo. I wonder if he'll ever stop being burdened with the task of protecting us.

I wonder if Remus will ever be a part of us again like he used to be when he wasn't a traitor. I wonder if we got it all wrong, and if we did, I wonder if one day we'll pull him into our arms and cry into his shoulder and tell him that he should never forgive us.

I wonder if Peter will ever have hope and happiness in his eyes again. I wonder if that look of terror that's constantly there when he's around us will ever drain away.

But most of all, I wonder if James will come home today.

I descend the last few stairs and suddenly, somebody appears in the fireplace in a swish of robes.

James is standing in front of me.

For a moment, he smiles. It's very brief but I catch the hidden meaning. It's not; 'Hi honey, work was fucking awful, I'm so glad to see you.' Instead it's, 'I survived Lily. I promised I would and I have.'

And when I rush to him and put my arms around him and sob into his shoulder like I do every day now, I think 'Something else survived today love,'

Wonder.

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**Reviews are always appreciated :)**


	2. Counting

**A/N I'm usually not into song fics… Oh alright I admit I am, but usually I don't like posting them, but I thought 'Don't Cry Out' by Shiny Toy Guns was perfect for my little excuse for an idea.  
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**Summary: Sirius reflects on the task at hand. Appearances from unknown female. Some swearing and adult themes... Not sure about the T rating on this one but what the hell...  
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**Disclaimer: I wish I could say I created all of the Harry Potter characters and then turned around and created a song as cool as 'Don't Cry Out' but... if I could I wouldn't be writing fan-fiction. So everything belongs to J.K and Shiny Toy Guns. :) **

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**Counting  **

**I don't get you.   
I can't forget what you've forgotten,  
all along,  
I've never been so alone. **

One tequila, two tequila, three tequila… Floor. I laugh at that. Laugh. Because every time I think of it I've just had a drink, and every time I have a drink I remember all the things that have ever happened to me that caused me pain but taught me something substantial at the same time.

I'm downing some substance I don't know the name of and my legs feel like jelly.

And I remember,

I remember watching my mother torturing a muggle girl just because she couldn't wave a wand, I remember meeting James and befriending him, I remember becoming an Animagus, I remember being a best man, I remember being a God Father, I remember fighting…

And I think, if I'm the only one who's going to remember these things then so be it. Because these aren't things I want to forget. I don't care if it hurts to look back and long for what I had, because at least if I look back I know I had it, once upon a time.

And so when she yells my name again, trying to grab my attention over the roar of the crowd. I ignore her and down whatever the bar tender puts down in front of me, because ultimately, it doesn't matter what it is, just what it does to me and fails to do to her.

**Don't Cry Out  
Cease Fire   
**

I'm not into the whole sharing thing. Because let's face it, nobody wants to hear about anybody else's problems, because they don't know how to deal with them .

She says she wants to know what I'm thinking; he says he wants to know if I'm okay with what he's asked me to do.

'I'm living in irony,' I want to say, 'Because on the outside I seem to be calling death but on the inside I'm pushing it away so hard.'

'Fuck no,' I want to say, 'I'm twenty. I'm not made for this. Come back in thirty years or so when I'm wise and reliable and I know how to handle this without freaking out, come back when I've lived and deserve to die.'

Instead I say; "I'm fine. I'll just be bloody glad when this is all over."

Instead I say, "Of course I am mate. You'd die for me."

It doesn't stop the problem or stop this fucking war, but for the time being, it keeps the peace, and you need all the peace you can get when you're fighting a war.

**I was pretending,  
your secret kiss of confidence,  
was my escape.  
The perfect game to play..   
**

I know why she's here. I know why she's with me. It's because she loves me. And while I want so desperately to love her back I know the real reason why I'm with her – it's because she's here with me but isn't there in the thick of the shit. And I need someone to distract me. Who doesn't know what the hell is happening – someone who doesn't know just how bad things are, so that when I come home having fought off death for just one more day I can be in the company of someone who's so far away from death she's practically immortal.

It's kind of perfect in a way, like being with her is hiding from death.

And that's kind of what the game is about, isn't it?

**Ten nine eight and I'm breaking away  
I'm all dressed up and I'm ready to play  
Seven six five four and I'm all over you   
**

So I'm counting down in a way. Counting to what I'm not sure. Hell, heaven, nothingness… Whatever the hell, heaven. Nothing-bloody-ness it is, I'm petrified of it, so I try to make everything in between last so long. The memories that sting but make life so raw and the distractions keeping me sane… It's like I'm counting and I'm saying three, two and a half, two and a quarter, two and a twelfth…

And I'm drawing out all the syllables.

That's the problem with time though. It doesn't stop. And you can't keep drawing out all the syllables forever. Maybe in theory you can, because in theory you can do anything…

But I'll be honest (because I don't have time for anything much else) theory is a load of shit.

**Counting three two one and I'm having fun...**

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**Your fascination  
with naked walls of silk and skin  
With no conditions  
I needed you to notice...   
**

I get it you know. I think everyone gets it. He's not okay with everything and hell I can understand why he wouldn't be.

I just wish he'd notice why I'm here. I know he thinks I'm here because I love him. But all I really want to do is give him a distraction, because hell we all need one, and I just wish he'd give me one. Because I'm suffering too. I don't let on but I am. Fuck I'm not naïve.

**Ten nine eight and I'm breaking away  
I'm all dressed up and I'm ready to play  
Seven six five four and I'm all over you  
Counting three two one and I'm having fun...**

And I make myself promise for what seems like the fiftieth time that I'm going to leave tomorrow. That I'm not into being something unless I get something back and I'm walking away from him, into the sea of sweat and sick and colours and sounds, but then I think if being a distraction yet not being noticed is the worst thing that I get out of this war then I can handle it. Just to make someone who has a much worse part feel much better.

I'm counting the steps I take back. Backwards. I'm walking backwards. Backwards to him… Again. Even though I need him to notice I'm hurting too. Even though all I am is this distraction. Even though…

I guess when we're kids we think we'll always get our way. But in the end, we always make these compromises. I guess, we all give up on what we want.

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**Ten nine eight and I'm breaking away  
I'm all dressed up and I'm ready to play  
Seven six five four and I'm all over you**

My head is spinning. The memories are gone. Somebody is supporting me and pulling me outside, into the cool air where there are no bright colours and nobody is screaming and yelling along to rock and roll.

I'm shoved into a car - or maybe I'm shoved onto a broom? - and nothing really is running through my head except numbers. Each of them representing something else. Distraction and memories. Not that I can recognise either but the numbers are there.

There are stars in front of my eyes and someone's clutching onto my arm saying, 'It's okay, we're almost home. You can sleep it all off.'

Everything's going black, and suddenly the numbers mean nothing but I'm saying them anyway.

**Counting three, two, one and I'm having fun… **

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**Review and I'll be your best buddy :)**

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	3. Probably

**A/N This one is probably my favourite so far. I can't remember when I wrote it but I stumbled across it today and knew it had to be published, so enjoy :)**

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**Probably **

He's petrified. Because for the first time in his life he's not fighting for something he wants – he's fighting for something he needs. Something that means so much to him it hurts.

When she told him he smiled – because in all the war and hate and death and insanity there was a tiny bit of hope, a bit of normality.

But secretly he's petrified. Because this time he's fighting for something worthwhile. He's not fighting for attention or the Quidditch cup. He's fighting for their boy. Their little boy.

As he looks into his green eyes and his thatch of black hair he feels his stomach cramp and twist itself into knots. He's looking at a person who contains half his genes. Half his traits. Half of his ability to lose his glasses at the most inappropriate times, half his gift of being able to say the right thing at just the right time if need be, half his ability to eventually get whatever he wants.

And the ability to die at any moment, James muses.

Because he has both genes for that.

He wonders if he'll be a good Quidditch player. Probably, he thinks. He wonders if he'll have his mother's goodness. Probably. He wonders if he'll be a trouble maker and drive both his parents out of their minds. Probably. He wonders if he'll love Sirius, Peter and Remus as much as he and Lily do. Probably.

He wonders if he'll be as susceptible to death as everyone on the planet…

Probably.

He thinks about what his mother always told him, about how she'd loved him as soon as she'd seen him. Despite his cheeky toothless grin and ridiculously messy hair. He thinks she was right and wishes she was here so he could ask her if not only did she love, but did she worry? Did she worry so much she felt like she was about to scream?

Probably.

He thinks of Lily who's sleeping in the next room, being monitored by healers in their lime green robes. He wonders if she's as worried as he is. If she's as petrified and terrified but just doesn't want to say so because once either of them says it then it's real.

Not for the first time he wishes he'd done the cowardly thing. He wishes he'd looked Dumbledore in the eye and said he wasn't interested in losing his life at nineteen. That he wanted to live. Let someone else fight. Let someone else be brave.

But he's never wished it so hard before.

He's never felt this terror before. He wishes he'd looked ahead and seen this little person before he'd agreed. He wishes he'd been terrified then, because then maybe he wouldn't be quite as terrified now.

"I don't know how to do this." He whispers, because even if this person only just met him, he understands, "I don't know how to be a Dad and I don't know how to protect you."

He pauses, his eyes glistening with more than sadness, "You've got me scared mate."

The little person looks up at him inquisitively. He gets the urge to hold this little creature tightly like he held his teddy bear when he was five.

He strokes his son's face gingerly.

And suddenly, the fear leaves.

Amazed, he looks at his baby in awe. He begins to chuckle, wiping away his tears.

He wonders if, when he wants to do what's easy instead of what's right, that'll he think of this little baby and have the strength to do the brave thing, the right thing, for him.

Probably, he decides.

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**Like? Hate? REVIEW! I mean, _please_ review. :)  
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	4. Angry

A/N I promised to have a Snape insight a little while back but this hit me first, so this is being posted instead. Sorry, I will get Snape and other ones up soon.

Remus POV

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Angry

You're angry.

At least, you think you're angry. If you're not you're insane, which at this point is probably better anyway.

You think you should be sad, disappointed – you think that you should be telling yourself 'I always knew it would happen.'

But you're not. You're angry.

And the fact that they see your strange and unusual behaviour as something entirely different to anger makes you so angry you can hardly breathe.

You know that if it was James they'd know. It's so hard to miss when James is angry. He shouts and curses and throws objects across the room because he hates not getting his own way.

If it was Sirius they'd know. They'd pick up on his sullen expression in a heartbeat. When Sirius is angry it's like sitting next to a time bomb just waiting for it to blow, and you don't want it anywhere near you when it does.

If it was Peter, you muse, they'd know. Because Peter just stops looking at you and doesn't say anything, leaving it up to huffy silences to convey how he's feeling.

But you, they don't know when you're angry. They don't know that the reason you're acting so strangely, is not because you're betraying them to Voldemort, but because you're angry that they expect it of you.

And you want to scream and shout and rant and rave until you're blue in the face. You want to be sullen and throw snide comments and look like a time bomb. You want to sit in a huffy silence and ignore them all until they get it through their thick heads…

But you can't do any of that, because if you did, they'd leave for sure.

You know that being angry, that having them think you're a traitor is much better than losing them all together.

And that's what would happen if you really showed them how angry you are, they'd leave.

Because there's never really been a reason for them not to.

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So... anyone like? 


	5. Polar

**A/N I'm back again with another one-shot that was actually written ages ago but I've only just found now and decided to post. I like this one a lot because in some ways Peter is such an interesting character - the idea that he went against his friends out of pure fear has never impressed me much. Thus, this materialized.**

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**Polar**

He'd do it tonight he decided. Tonight. He ignored the fact that he'd said that every other night for the past six months. He ignored the fact that after six months he still hadn't done it. He ignored the tiny twinge he got – the same twinge he got whenever he told himself he was going to do it…

He was going to do it.

Tonight.

Tonight he was going to do it.

_Yes Peter, we've established that tonight, you are going, to do it. _

Shaking his head agitatedly he hurried forward. A great manor towered ahead of him; three stories high with large glass windows at every side.

He took a deep breath and seized himself up. He ran through every single reason he possessed for doing what he wanted to do – every reason for doing it tonight.

There really only seemed to be one reason for doing it _tonight;_ that every night be put it off the deeper he sank.

He took another deep breath and rapped sharply on the oak door. The sound of his knocking resounded and soon he heard scurrying footsteps alerting him that the door was about to be opened.

A grubby house elf beckoned him in silently. He was well used to this by now and so ignored the house elf and strode quickly to the end of the magnificent hallway and stopped abruptly in front of another oak door.

_Yes, definitely tonight. _

"Come in Wormtail."

He fumbled with the door knob for a few seconds before he managed to grasp it and turn it such that he could enter the room. On entering the first thing he noticed were the emerald flames licking the brick fireplace.

"You have news I presume?"

The voice came from a leather chair in the middle of the room that at first glance seemed to be unoccupied until its occupant stood at full height and turned to Peter questioningly.

"Yes… Yes, My Lord." He said, swallowing hard and kneeling, "Indeed My Lord, there is an operation in Essex this evening."

"Who is overseeing this operation?"

"Waverly, the Auror that works for-."

"I am well aware who Waverly is Wormtail." The figure snarled icily. He paused for a few moments and then said, "Is this all?"

"Uh yes… Yes I'm afraid that's it my Lord."

"You may go Wormtail."

Peter hesitated. _Yes Tonight. Definitely tonight. _

"My Lord…"

"Wormtail, do you remember what I said to you?"

Of course he remembered. He remembered everything he'd ever said to him. He could recall everything.

"Of course my Lord."

"What did I say Wormtail?"

"That…" He paused, "That I would be glorified beyond my imagination when the war was over."

The figure nodded.

"And that doing this was true bravery. True bravery."

"That's right Wormtail. You will do well to remember. Leave."

Peter scurried from the room without another word. He didn't look back until he had passed both doors and was halfway down the drive.

He felt sick with himself. He'd felt sick with himself for half a year. Six months. Twenty six weeks. God knew how many days.

But it was what got him every time, that bravery.

Because that's what it was in a way. Bravery.

It certainly wasn't noble bravery. That's what hurt Peter the most. He wanted to be like his friends – his very best friends who he was betraying. He wanted to have bravery and nobility at the same time.

But he knew that would never be. He was Peter Pettigrew, the boy who sat behind James Potter and Sirius Black and occasionally Remus Lupin, the boy who tagged along and did just as much but never saw any praise because he was just behind the curtains pulling a rope for those on stage.

A kind of anger welled inside him.

And like he had every night for six months he told himself that it was bravery. That, standing up against his friends, in a sick kind of deluded way, was actually bravery.

He'd always wondered why he'd been placed in Gryffindor. It seemed such an ironic choice at the time. At eleven he'd been scared of the dark, muggle traffic crossings and spiders. Not what he considered the makings of a true Gryffindor.

But now he understood why.

It was because he_ was_ brave. It was because he was standing up and fighting – not in any way what he considered noble, but in a way that would insure in the end that he would finally be glorified.

Even if it came at the life of his friends.

Yes, he decided. He was brave. Being at the extremes was brave. Because fighting for good and fighting for evil, fighting for either was brave. It just had never seemed that way because one was noble and the other wasn't.

Yes, being in the middle was cowardly. Not doing anything at all was cowardly. Not doing anything good or otherwise, that was cowardly.

Yes what he was doing was not cowardly. Cowardice would be the excuse – but not in any way the truth.

"He was going to kill me if I didn't spy for him." That's what he'd say.

"I was going to kill me if I didn't prove to myself that I could be glorified." He'd think.

And that, for another sixteen hours at least, made him half way satisfied with what he was doing.

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**Any comments at all will be appreciated :) **


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